


Dog Days

by DreamingPagan



Series: Graced [4]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Families of Choice, Fluff, Gates POV, Gen, In which Gates acquires a dog, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, and Charles is going to need new trousers, post Full of Grace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-10 20:37:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13509336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingPagan/pseuds/DreamingPagan
Summary: “Hey - go chew someone else. Go on. Get off. Hey!”The puppy growling and chewing on the leg of Charles Vane’s trousers gives a yipe as Thomas strides forward and scoops it off the ground.





	Dog Days

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sirenswhisper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sirenswhisper/gifts).



> For Penny- I hope this makes you smile!

 

“Hey - go chew someone else. Go on. Get off. Hey!”

Charles Vane’s voice sounds from around the corner, and Thomas frowns.

“Hal - do you hear that?” he asks, and Hal Gates turns. 

“Sounds like a dog,” he says, puzzled frown on his face. “What the hell -?” 

They round the corner - and Hal does all he can not to laugh. 

“I mean it. You’ve got two seconds before I pick you up and take you to that mad bitch at the inn- she’ll put anything in the stew. Let go of my fucking trousers -”

The puppy growling and chewing on the leg of Charles Vane’s trousers gives a yipe as Thomas strides forward and scoops it off the ground.

“Charles Vane! What have I told you about insulting Madame Mithers?” he demands.  

Charles turns to him, an exasperated expression on his face. 

“You wait,” he says. “You think I’m joking. There was a fucking rat tail in the soup - I saw it!” 

Thomas looks to Jack Rackham, who stands beside Charles.

“He’s quite right,” he says loyally. “I’ve glimpsed things in Mrs. Mithers’ soup pot that don’t bear mentioning.” 

“You’re both fucking full of it,” Gates chides. He knows the proprietress of the inn quite well. She’s a bit senile, sure, but she’s not in the habit of serving rats, whatever Vane and Rackham say to wind Thomas up. The two younger men give him grins, Rackham’s less easy than Vane’s. The Ranger’s new quartermaster doesn’t know Gates well - he’s only just arrived on the island, and Vane appears to be enjoying his apprehension as much as Thomas’ indignance. 

“There’re no rats in the stew,” he reassures Thomas, who, credit to the time he’s spent on the island thus far, raises one eyebrow and fixes him with a look.

“I’ve stayed at that inn,” he reminds, and Vane guffaws while Gates rolls his eyes.

“Pack of wags,” he mutters under his breath, and Thomas flashes him a grin before turning back to the puppy in his arms. It’s Gates’ own fault, of course - he mentioned wags, and the puppy’s tail is doing just that. Thomas laughs as he attempts to avoid the puppy’s enthusiastic attempt to lick his face.

“I think this fellow could use a home,” he says. “You can’t eat Charles’ trousers,” he tells the puppy, “whatever they might smell like.” 

“Hey!” Vane protests. “I wash them!” This time it’s Rackham who snorts. 

“Yes. Once monthly,” he says, and Thomas turns his attention back to Vane.

“I’m certain Captain Teach wasn’t being literal when he said ‘the lion has no den’,” he says pointedly. “Honestly, Charles, I wasn’t joking about that invitation to stay with us now and again. We’ve mostly sorted out how to go about washing clothing.” 

He gives a wry grin, and Vane snorts. 

“Tell that to your shirts,” he says. “I’m not letting you or McGraw anywhere near my trousers. I’ve got few enough pairs as it is.” 

Thomas rolls his eyes, but doesn’t contest the point. Hal stays pointedly mum - he’s seen the early results of Thomas’ attempt to learn how to do laundry, and he can’t say he blames Vane. There are three people in their strange family who can wash clothing, and even James is less than stellar at it. The boy, as he’s told Hennessey, has grown too used to paying a laundress to do his washing for him. His husband, he recalls, had shown little remorse for the fact - his aim, after all, had been to lift his son from crushing poverty and make him a gentleman, not teach him the finer points of hard labor. Regardless - James has more than pulled his weight since arriving, so Gates counts him among the ranks of able workers and allows Charles his tease. 

The puppy in Thomas’ arms wriggles, and Hal turns to the younger man with a sigh. 

“You’ve got chickens,” he points out. “You know what dogs can be like around livestock.”

“Hal,” Thomas points out in a reasonable tone of voice - wheedling, Hal might almost call it, and be right, too - “the chickens outweigh him by several pounds. I hardly think we need worry.” 

Hal grunts. Thomas has a point, he supposes - the dog’s likely to develop a healthy respect for the chickens before he grows older, and they DO need a guard dog. There are still too many men in Nassau who don’t seem to understand that raiding the farm that belongs to Captain bloody Flint is not a good idea - or that James, fearsome as he can be, is not the only danger to be faced there. The cleanup’s a right bitch every time, and Hal would just as soon skip it.

“Alright,” he concedes. 

“Wait - you’re  _ keeping _ the mangy beast?” Vane asks, and Thomas looks almost offended on the dog’s behalf. 

“He’s not mangy,” he defends. He lowers his nose toward the pup, and then pulls away. “In need of a bath, perhaps.” Hal snorts.

“And a name,” Rackham points out. “Spot, perhaps, or - well, not to put too fine a point on it, but he does rather look like you yourself, Mister Gates. Perhaps Hal?” 

“I do not,” Hal growls, “look like that dog.” 

“You’ve both got mutton chops,” Vane points out, grinning. “Come on Gates, even you must see it!” 

Hal looks at the puppy. He has, he is less than pleased to notice, dark markings on either side of his face - markings that do indeed look like his own facial hair, and damn it, one of these days he’s going to find something to twit Rackham about, if it’s the last thing he does.

“Aye, alright,” he says, to the sound of snickering around him. “I’ll think of something eventually. We used to have a dog when I was a boy - can’t remember what he was called, but he was a bloody pain in the arse, always trying to herd everyone -”

He stops. Dogs, he thinks, are meant to have jobs. They’re meant to have places and people that they belong to, and this one is going to be no different - and if he’s going to be Hal’s dog, then he’s bloody well going to have a name that suits. Hal has no home at all if it’s not with Eirnin or - 

He grins. 

“Come on,” he tells Thomas. “We might as well go home. You’ve a dog to bathe, and I’ve one to train.”

“Hal -?” Thomas questions, and then sees the look on Hal’s face.

“You’re up to mischief,” he accuses, and Hal grins.

“Always,” he answers, and they make their way to the wagon and then to the McGraw-Hamilton and family homestead, where Eirnin hears Gates’ name for the dog, rolls his eyes fondly, and then kisses him.

“I’ll not be responsible if he takes to pissing in the house or chewing on the furniture,” he remarks. “You’re naming him after a pirate ship - you cannot possibly expect aught else.” 

Hal grins.

“Worth it,” he answers, and is met with an answering grin from his husband. He turns to the dog. “Walrus,” he calls, and the dog’s ears perk up. 

“See?” he asks. “He likes it. Come on, Walrus - let’s go and see what you make of Eirnin’s shipyard.” 

“I don’t know what the dog might make of it, but the men on the beach have talked of little else for the past month,” James interjects as he comes through the door. “Hal - Tás,” he acknowledges, and Hennessey smiles at him. “You’ll make a small fortune in the first year alone,” he reports. He stoops and pats the dog, then looks back up at Hal. 

“Thomas’ idea?” he asks, and Hal grins. 

“Who else?” he asks. 

“Walrus?” James asks, one eyebrow raised, and Gates grins. 

“Give a man a bit of fun,” he says, and James rolls his eyes.

“Good luck with this one,” he tells the dog, and Hal laughs as James walks out of the room, seeking Thomas and Miranda now that he’s returned from the beach.

_ Several Months Later: _

“Hey now - down. You can keep your muddy paws off. Alright - aye, I’m glad to see you too, you bloody beast!”

“Welcome home,” Miranda offers. She’s standing on the pier, looking massively amused at the antics of both man and dog, and Hal offers her a rueful grin. He steps forward, hugs the woman he’s come to think of as a sort of daughter, and steps back. 

“Everyone’s well?” he asks, and Miranda gestures expressively. Hal turns - and grins as he beholds the completed shipyard that now stands not far from the town, several ships lying over on their sides with men working busily to patch and replace and paint and build. 

“Business booming, then?” he asks, and she grins. 

“We’ll be expanding soon,” she answers. 

“Good,” Hal answers. “We could do with some repairs ourselves - think I can claim husband’s privilege and get a good deal on new sheets and an anchor cable?”

“I think something might be arranged,” Miranda answers archly. “You’ll have to work it out with Thomas, though - he has half the town dancing to his tune and I daresay he’s enjoying it.” 

“Teach bent, then?” Hal asks, and Miranda frowns. 

“No. I’m afraid we may have to carry through on our original plan for Captain Teach. I’ve cautioned Eleanor, but much as I hate to admit it, she may not be mistaken.”

“Vane’ll be pleased to see him gone,” Hal says. “He’s been champing at the bit for his own ship. If Eirnin can be persuaded to give Vane a deal that will benefit the Ranger’s crew -”

Miranda gives him an approving look, and he simply grins, and subsides. He does not need to finish - Miranda is a smart woman, and a kindred spirit. They share a sort of shorthand, now. He turns his attention instead to Walrus, who has now begun to use his nervous energy to tear into a piece of driftwood he’s found somewhere on the beach.

“How’s this one been?” Hal asks, and Miranda rolls her eyes.

“Walrus,” she orders, “sit!” 

The pup looks up, surprised, and Hal can see the moment that he registers the order. He abruptly plops down in the sand, his tail still wagging, and she grins. 

“Coming along nicely,” she answers. The dog springs up again a moment later, and Hal laughs despite himself.

“Not quite all the way there yet,” he observes, and Miranda’s wrinkles her nose, giving the pup a look of mixed amusement and mild irritation.

“Walrus,” she says, “ask Charles to join us.”

The dog gives her a serious look - and then goes bounding off, yapping all the way, and Gates gives her a puzzled expression.

“Follow him,” she says with a little grin and a laugh, and Gates does as she says, taking off after the dog and following the barks through the streets. He follows all the way to the tavern - and grins when he hears a surprised shout and the sound of increased barking, then growling, and Charles Vane swearing.

“‘Scuse me, gentlemen,” Hal says to the men nearest the door, and wades his way through the crowd until he finds the source of the noise.

“Call off your mutt!” Charles shouts, and Gates grins. 

“Walrus!” he calls. He’s been waiting for this - gleefully anticipating it, and now - 

“What?” 

Half the men in the tavern turn. There is confusion on some faces, long-suffering patience on others, and irritation on still more, and Gates beams.

“Talking to the dog,” he answers, “but it’s good to know you all know what ship you’re from. Carry on!”

“You planned that,” Rackham says from behind him. “Charles - for god’s sake, Charles, it’s a dog, not a fucking lion!” 

Vane does not answer - he’s too busy fending off the enthusiastic face-washing Walrus is insistent upon giving him, caught between curses and laughter.

“You’re right,” Gates grins. “I absolutely did.”

Rackham raises an eyebrow, and looks at Gates.

“For what it’s worth,” he says, “I apologize utterly for any comments I may have made regarding your choice of facial adornment, although I would suggest -”

“You look like you forgot to finish shaving, I wouldn’t push it.”

“...your point is well made.”  

"Charles," Gates says, bending over by the younger man, "when you're done playing around, Miranda wants a word." 

He turns, and walks away, and whistles as he does. There is a bark behind him, and then Walrus comes bounding past him, and he grins.

Their trouble with raiders, he imagines, might continue, but at least he won't be hearing any further aspersions cast on his mutton chops.

**Author's Note:**

> Language Note - Tas is Cornish for Dad or father, and I felt it was appropriate for James to use for Hennessey. Also, Hennessey may or may not be going by McGraw in Nassau - it's less conspicuous than using his own name when he's wanted for murder in England AND a former admiral in a place where absolutely no one would trust him if they knew.


End file.
